


Softer, Softest

by bitchbutter



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchbutter/pseuds/bitchbutter
Summary: "John reluctantly pulls his lips away from Joe’s, settling them against the other man's forehead; once, twice, three times. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs.And it’s so true, so close to the loneliness he’d felt in the last few months, that for a moment he fears he might cry here next to an abandoned MetroCard machine at the airport.This is apparently visible to Joe, who puckers his bottom lip out in playful sympathy, before he lowers his eyes in that way that he knows makes John go weak at the knees, and tilts his face up to whisper across John’s lips: “Oh, kiss me, you big crybaby.”And he can’t compete with that."A long weekend in New York.
Relationships: John Deacon/Joe Mazzello
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Softer, Softest

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all ~ 
> 
> Thanks for tuning in! This is my first published work in this particular fandom, and I hope you find something enjoyable in it. I'm envisioning around 5 chapters for this, so hopefully this one isn't too slow for you, but I really loved exploring these two and the particular ways they're soft with each other. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Never met these people, and after writing this I hope I never do lol. Don't post this anywhere else or I will sue?

_He dreams of the elevator._

_He has the impression of sound but not the actual sense of it, and can only hear the sound of Roger’s yelling and Freddie’s laughter in the vibrations of his memory. The moments spins from the fit of his platforms on his feet, to the smell of the enclosed space they crowded into, to the sight of Brian’s sharp-toothed smile, to the sensation of joy swirling around in his head (but even this is just the memory of a feeling). Shifting, and zooming in, then zooming out, the rotation making the dream feel drunk._

_Yes, he remembers thinking, an endless litany of yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and more yes._

_Remembers being held, of holding in return; one palm skimming Brian’s curls, the other grasping the the shoulder of Roger’s velvet jacket, his nose pushing up against Fred’s hair in those yes filled days when Fred and Rog still smelled identical to each other._

_Oh, yes, yes, yes, love-_

_“I told you we’d-”_

Consciousness is a blessing and a curse. For a few moments he holds his eyes shut defiantly, willing his mind to quiet and return to sleep, but the dream has gone. John opens his eyes, and sighs upon taking in the still darkened room, small slits of light poking in from the streetlamp outside his window. He turns his head begrudgingly to the clock on the bedside table.

4:48am.

Well, that’s not nearly as bad as it could have been. As it has been. Really he’s surprised he’d been able to sleep at all, the combination of flight anxiety and the knowledge that he’ll be placing his semi-famous face on one of the busiest flights in the world in a matter of hours would usually be enough to keep him awake for days. Must be the exhaustion of moving and then packing in such quick succession.

The dark form of his suitcase in the corner sends a little ripple through his heart, and he has to take a deep breath to steady himself again. Just a few more hours. And then a few more hours after that.

God, here he is getting heart flutters like a teenager again. It would be embarrassing if this lightness wasn’t such a welcome feeling.

At least he hadn’t reached for Joe the moment he woke up this time. It’s made the nearly three months apart almost unbearably sad, the more he reached his hand out in the night searching for warmth and finding nothing. He’s had to put his head down until the feeling passes more than once.

He looks at the clock again. It’s late in New York, with any luck Joe is sound asleep already. Lord knows that man is worse at obeying bedtime than John is, but the stress he’s been emitting in their last few calls has been palpable.  
He’d better be asleep. But it’s worth it to check.

John takes his phone from the charger on the bedside table, swiping easily through his nondescript lock screen (despite Joe’s best efforts the photo is still just a generic beach scene, though the many dirty pictures he’s received in the last few weeks are saved in a folder nobody will ever see). The screen lights upon the last thing he’d had open; his messages. After much cajoling he’d allowed Joe to make him a fake profile in order to use Messenger, claiming it would be easier to see if John was awake or asleep that way. John understands he might come across as a bit of an iphone neophyte but he knows there's definitely an easier way to do this. 

To his surprise (and delight), there is a small green dot next to the fake profile picture Joe has made for himself. Quirking his lips slightly, John can’t help but:

Jon  
You aren’t awake are you, love?

Jö  
YOU aren’t awake are you??

Jon  
Couldn’t sleep. Too excited, I guess.

Jö  
Are you trying to make me blush  
It’s working  
You really need to sleep you know, you need to rest w all this moving and change. Brain is prob confused or smth

Jon  
I’ll sleep on the plane, no worries

Jö  
Like not to push but maybe you should consider seeing a doc? You’re literally as rich as the gd pope, I bet they’d give you whatever Prince took to fall asleep 

Jon  
I have some bad news for you about Prince

Jö  
Why, what happened?

Jon  
I’m alright. I’ll sleep better next to you, is all.

Jö  
You make my heart fucking sing  
I can’t wait to see you 

Jon  
I can’t wait to see YOU, love, why are you still up?

Jö  
Became consumed with cleaning. This apartment has never been cleaner, I promise you that

Jon  
I wasn’t worried at all, more worried about you being too exhausted to enjoy the visit

Jö  
I’ll throw you a fuck if I’m caffeinated enough, not to worry

Jon  
….  
Ok  


Jö  
L M A O  
I’m kidding John!!

Jon  
You said you’d be in bed by 11, young man

Jö  
Stop trying to get me hard

Jon  
I’m not

Jö  
But it’s working  
I’ll sleep while you’re on the plane sleeping<3

Jon  
Worried I won’t sleep there either honestly. Nervous to be recognized

Jö  
Aww babe just keep your head down, nobody will notice.  
Cross my heart  
Also you should watch The Irishman on the plane bc I know you haven’t done it yet

Jon  
Yes I have so

Jö  
What happens in it then

Jon  
I don’t need to explain myself to you

Jö  
You mean you CAN’T explain  
Bc you didn’t watch it  
Even tho i have recced it to you 500 times

Jon  
Go to sleep Joe

Jö  
It’s literally almost 4 hours long I’m just saying. Perf plane movie

Jon  
Go to sleep Joe

Jö  
You know I was actually thinking about sucking your dick the second you got here but now i’m not so sure

Jon  
Go to SLEEP

Jö  
Whatever  
I love you <3 have a safe flight <3 <3 <3 

Jon  
I love you, love  
I’ll see you shortly

Jö  
See you~ <3

John sighs lightly through a smile. God, but he’s missed him. As complicated as things had been, as many nerves as he feels putting himself back in places he’d happily left decades prior, as much as this whole situation has made him feel like a scared 19 year old searching for any kind of identity again, he finds he can’t feel it. The anxiety is, for once, happening in the next room over.

Even just 10 minutes (or, as it happens, five days) with this funny, charming, infuriating, beautiful man has made it worth it.

* * *

_They met in the Fall of 2016. John remembers the urge to be anywhere but where he was, the annoyance at being made to come, almost nauseous with the prospect that the past he’d been trying desperately to get away from was now rising up to act itself out in front of the entire world._

_He remembers hating the sight of Joe’s face. Resenting their resemblance, cursing the length of his nose and the turn of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, the way they’d done his hair to look like John’s._

_But Joe’s smile was his own. Joe’s heart was his own. And it opened for John like a rose in the sun._

_No, it didn’t take long for John to love him at all._

_They met, as John would later know intimately, two days after Joe’s birthday._

* * *

True to form, John waits until the very, very, very last moment to go to the airport. Luckily he’s able to pretty much breeze through security and locate the gate in less than an hour, and is able to board almost the second he arrives. Apparently most everyone has already boarded before him, so settling himself in his seat near the front is painless and, due to the denizens of the first class section either already settling in to sleep or glued to their phones, noticed by nobody but the flight attendants. 

He’s always had a bit of a reservation about sitting in first class while also attempting to go unnoticed, but he isn’t so humble nor so anxious that he’ll acquiesce to sitting in coach for 8 hours straight. The first time he and Joe had traveled together that had been made abundantly clear to him, as the younger man handily upgraded his own seat, forcing John to upgrade or sit in the back alone, and then refused to apologize for it. 

One of the first class flight attendants shook him from his train of thought. “Good morning, sir. May I get you anything to drink, to start?”

Though his still frayed nerves begged for a bit of sedation, he refused. Best not get drunk on the plane, better to arrive rested and impossibly fresh looking. The opposite of what Joe would do, he thought with a smile.  
8 hours. Just 8 hours and then five whole days of just him and Joe, after almost three months of nothing but talking through a little box of metal to each other.

As the door is shut, and the plane begins inching itself onto the runway and towards Joe, John can only take a deep breath.

And wait just a little longer.

* * * 

_They kiss for the first time two weeks before Thanksgiving, two weeks before Joe’s break in filming._

_John had tried to stay away; first because he couldn’t take Joe, then because he found he couldn’t put Joe back once he had him, then because he realized he’d wanted more than had been offered to him. But he was drawn, almost helplessly, towards him. They attracted each other like drops of water._

_The first kiss was pressed to the top of Joe's head; a mere kindness towards a man undergoing a strain John understood all too well. The second kiss brushed the skin of Joe’s forehead, one man with no father comforting a man about to lose his. The third and fourth happened almost in slow motion, John’s lips pressing gently to the bridge of Joe’s nose once, and then, almost to affirm that he had just done it, again._

_Their breaths mingled together, noses brushing for just an instant as John realized he was much, much too close to Joe’s face to come across as anything other than needy. And that was wrong, so wrong, because he’s John, and Joe is Joe, and Joe has tear tracks on his face that John wants to kiss and wipe away and lord he need to step away from this, needs to learn to say no when it counts-_

_But they fall to each other anyway._

_The fifth kiss is traded between their lips for long, long moments. And lingered in the silence of Joe’s departure for weeks._

* * *

The jolt of landing sends John into wakefulness. He barely remembers falling asleep, so it must have happened early on in the flight. He’s absolutely sure he didn’t watch _The Irishman_ , so that will absolutely be a conversation Joe has with him later. Shaking his head slightly, shrugging off his residual grogginess, he opens up the shade of his window and takes his first glance of New York. 

It’s a cloudy afternoon, even just looking outside makes John feel a little cold, and the muddled pallor of the clouds tells him it will either burn off eventually or will unload a payload of snow. Thank god he packed warmly. Winter anywhere has never been his favorite experience, but a winter in New York makes him feel especially bleak.

Hopefully Joe’s apartment is heated sufficiently, which it should be as Joe would run cold in the bloody Sahara. 

A pleasant “ding” from above alerts him to take his seatbelt off, and as soon as the door is opened he’s hurrying as subtly as he can off of the plane and into the port. 

He and Joe have a tradition for when John comes to New York. The first time he had done so the stress of flying, the fear of being recognized, as well as the general nerves that come with visiting someone you’re growing very strong feelings for at their home for the first time had John so turned around that he lost himself in the sprawling airport. He and Joe spoke on the phone for nearly 15 minutes as he tried to find his way again, while simultaneously refusing to ask for help as Joe suggested over and over. Eventually he found his way to the Baggage Claim, but having spotted no sign of Joe the younger man had emitted a groan of frustration and stated he was standing at a MetroCard kiosk and was not going to move until he was found. 

To John’s credit, it only took him another 6 minutes after that to locate the MetroCard kiosk in question, nestled away on its own in a passageway adjacent to the Baggage Claim carousels. 

Ever since, that has been their designated meeting spot for John’s visits. In hindsight, it really is the perfect place; out of the way, quiet, and near an exit they can scurry through with minimal trouble. And by now, three years later, the route to that secluded passageway is as easy as breathing. Head down, he weaves through families struggling to collapse strollers, young lovers no doubt about to embark on their honeymoon cluttering up the walkway, and distracted businessmen hustling towards the nearest airport bar. He settles into the back of a group boarding the escalator leading down into the Baggage Claim, and there it is, just there, peeking out on his left.

He allows himself a moment to pull back and consider that Joe might not be there just yet, he hadn’t even turned on his phone again to alert the younger man of his arrival in his haste to get off the plane. Then again, he’d sent all his information weeks prior. 

Heart trying to jump up into his throat, he disembarks the escalator and makes the brief walk to the entrance of the passage.

And he’s there. 

Joe is looking in the opposite direction, clearly expecting him to come from that way, and his hair is a little longer than it was a few months ago, curling around his ears and falling in messy red strands around his temples. He too, is trying to blend in as much as he can, dressed in dark jeans and a black coat, a pair of sunglasses tucked into his breast pocket. He is leaning up slightly against the MetroCard kiosk (this time it has a huge “Out of Order” sign in lined paper across the screen), his knuckles tapping minutely against the side of the machine.

John can’t honestly say whether the chill he feels now is his own, or if it’s the result of the doors behind him opening and closing for the waves of travelers that are fading away from them, slowly. 

He has to force himself to move forward, not just enjoy this tableau for the next few days, and he finds the chill getting stronger the closer he gets to Joe. 

At last, Joe’s head turns. As his eyes light upon John’s approaching figure, they widen softly in surprise, before his big, sharp, Joe smile breaks out over his face and he takes a few steps forward to meet him.

All at once, he is holding and being held again. He crushes Joe’s body into his own, and Joe’s well-muscled arms press him forward in turn, both of them trying to absorb the other, to recapture the warmth that only they can emit. Joe’s hair is in his nose as he pushes his face into the crook of the other man's neck, and he smells like almonds and sweat and flames, like home. One of Joe’s hands goes up to grasp the back of his neck, brushing the shorter hairs along his nape as he holds John’s face to his neck, his breath ghosting along the shell of the older man's ear before placing a soft kiss there. 

Reluctantly he lifts his face from the other man's neck, and up close Joe’s face is everything an image on a screen is not. His eyes are larger, deeper, the imperfections of his features made more beautiful by his proximity. He looks tired, and exhilarated, his eyes moving quickly over John’s own face, and he hopes he looks alright, hopes that he doesn’t look too much like the rumpled old man that he feels like. If Joe can see John’s flaws he doesn’t show it, as his mouth only softens into a loving little cloud of a smile, and he brings his other hand up to gently cup the other man's jaw, thumb just brushing along the plane of his cheek. 

“Hi,” he greets softly.

John lifts his own hand, grasping Joe’s wrist gently as he turns his head to press a kiss to the younger man's palm. “Hello, lovely.”

Joe’s smile widens, before cupping John’s face and bringing him down to press a hard kiss to his waiting lips.

They may have any number of flaws as individuals, but together this is always perfect.

His fingers tangle in the longer strands falling around Joe’s nape, and he feels the chill there again on the back of his lovers neck. He huffs a little laugh into the kiss, and they split, but keep their faces only centimeters apart. “Silly thing, why didn’t you wear a scarf?”

The redhead chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re late. Wasn’t supposed to be out in the cold this long.”

“Blame it all on me, then. Did you bring gloves at least?”

“I don’t know,” Joe teases gently, running the back of his fingers over John’s cheeks once more. “Did I?”  
He chases those chilled fingers with his lips, brushing a few quick kisses over Joe’s fingertips as the younger man laughs and instead grasps at his collar and brings him in for another kiss. This one is softer, warmer, and it’s a struggle not to deepen it and spend a good few minutes re-learning the heat of this man's body. But Joe has an apartment they can do that in. 

John reluctantly pulls his lips away from Joe’s, instead settling his lips against the other man's forehead, once, twice, three times. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs, and it’s so true, so close to the loneliness he’d felt in the last few months, that for a moment he fears he might cry here next to an abandoned MetroCard machine at the airport.

This is apparently visible to Joe, who puckers his bottom lip out in playful sympathy, before he lowers his eyes in that way that he knows makes John go weak at the knees, and tilts his face up to whisper across John’s lips: “Oh, kiss me, you big crybaby.”

And he can’t compete with that.

* * *

 **Nov 14 7:09PM  
Outgoing call/Mobile**  
2 hr 19 min 27 sec

**Nov 14 9:29PM  
Missed call/Mobile**

**Nov 14 9:40PM  
Missed call/Mobile**

**MON AT 10:02PM**  
J.D.  
Joe will you please answer the phone?

 **MON AT 10:13PM**  
J.D.  
Can we talk about this like adults or are you happy to ignore me?  
You’ve already had me up at midnight, the least you can do is answer me

 **MON AT 10:25PM**  
J.D.  
Is this the game? You run after me like I’m the bloody Beatles and then the moment I stop for you you bolt?

 **MON AT 10:38PM**  
J.D.  
I’m sorry  
I’m really not saying what I want to say, can you please just call me and I can explain?  
I promise not to yell

**MON AT 11:30PM  
Missed call/Mobile**

**TUES AT 2:00AM**  
J.D.  
Joe, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to yell, and I didn’t mean a word of what I said. It’s just overwhelming I think, and I’m not as used to change as I was. If I ever was. But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you, that was immensely unfair of me.  
I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.  
But clearly that isn’t my choice, it’s yours, and I shouldn’t have tried to make it for you. I do care about you and I just never meant to hurt you. I hate myself for doing this to you. For doing this to both of us.  
None of this is coming out right, I’m sorry.  
I’m awake now, I’m not going to sleep, so if you want you can call me anytime and I’ll try to explain. Any time, honest.  
Please call.

* * *

Joe’s apartment smells different. Still warm, homey, like onions and a light burned aroma lingering at the edges, but now something lighter resting at the top of it. Sweet citrus, like grapefruit, and the bite of peppercorns. As Joe locks the door behind them, John takes in the minute changes to this space that's grown as familiar to him as his own home; the new bookshelf, larger and stained a darker shade to match the coffee table, the way the couch is now moved from against the wall to act as a barrier between the “dining room” and the living room. There are flowers on the dining room table (just a small, circular thing, but it constitutes the dining room such as it is), lovely, light things that look to be peonies.

He _has_ cleaned, John notes as he takes the step into the kitchen and sneaks a finger along the top of the fridge. Dust free.

“You didn’t believe that I cleaned, did you?” Joe asks, as John eyes his fingers.

“Well, you have let me down in that regard before,” the older man smiled, hefting his bag up to carry it into the bedroom.

“That hurts my feelings. Give that to me,” the redhead says, seizing the strap of John’s bag and pulling it onto his own shoulder. “You boil some water, or something. Leave the heavy lifting to me.”

“Boil some water or something,” John nods with a laugh. “I assume you mean for tea?”

“No, I wanted to wash my face!” Joe calls as he goes down the hall to the bedroom, the floor creaking familiarly under his feet.

He snicker lightly as he toes off his shoes onto the mat, before crossing into the kitchen to fill the kettle and set the flame. After three years of navigating this pathetically small kitchen he likes to think he’s as familiar with its layout as he could possibly be, as familiar with this whole place in fact. Like how he knows intrinsically that there’s a guitar sandwiched between the dresser and the wall in Joe's room (even though he’s told him a million times to just get a stand), that there’s most likely a glass abandoned behind the TV in the living room, and there’s going to be a pair of socks laid over the radiator in the bathroom.

The tea has run away from him, though.

“Move the tea, love?” he calls. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s on the counter!”

And on the counter it is, nestled next to the coffee maker.

Joe rounds the corner once more, leaning up against the raised countertop. “Found it?”

John nods in confirmation as he locates the cups (thankfully in their normal places), and settles a bag in each. “Against all odds.”

Smiling, the younger man rounds the counter and brushes against John next to the fridge. “I’ve been trying to make some changes.”

“And the location of your tea was the thing that absolutely had to change, yeah?” John teased.

“First one,” Joe replied softly, pressing a kiss to the other man's shoulder. “Then another,” he continued pressing kisses up John’s shoulder and onto the side of his neck. 

John turned easily into the contact, bringing his hands up to cup Joe’s face and take another long look at him. “I see,” he murmured, his thumb following the angle of the younger man's face, up to gently trace the scant circles under his eye. “You look tired, Joe.” 

The redhead sighs at that, shaking his head slightly. “I am, a bit,” he admits, letting his face tip forwards to rest against John’s neck. “Better now that you’re here, though.”

“Poor darling,” John sympathizes, holding the younger man tighter to him, fingers brushing through the hair gathered behind Joe’s ear. “Can I do anything?”

“No, no,” Joe replies quickly, turning his face in to kiss the older man's neck once more. “It’s enough. You’re enough.”

And he can’t be expected to not kiss Joe when he says things like that. John uses the hand carding through Joe’s hair to softly pull his head up from its hiding place in John’s neck, and the moment those pink lips are bared to him he’s pulling their faces together. Joe sighs into the kiss, mouth opening easily and granting John the access he’s been yearning for for months. His mouth is sweeter than he remembered, his tongue more clever; they curl and play against each other, trading power, and desire. Arms wrap around his neck, and the only slightly shorter redhead leans himself back up against the corner made by the fridge and the counter, legs falling naturally open for John to step into. 

Fingers are running through his hair now, and he moves his hands to grasp the younger man's hips, anchoring them against the counter as he brushes his own against him. Joe gasps lightly at the contact, his mouth splitting from John’s before sighing contentedly against his cheek. The older man captures his lips again, rolling their hips together steadily, letting a moan of his own echo into Joe’s mouth.

Three months has been a long time, indeed. He’s almost forgotten he had any technique to begin with. But he’s too elated; too overjoyed to be back here in this familiar kitchen, with this beautiful man in his arms, to care about anything at all.

He can feel Joe hardening against him, his hands tightening their hold on his hair, and he rocks harder into him. The younger man tips his head back against the fridge, smiling blissfully as he moans, one leg lifting from the floor to curl around John’s leg. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pleasure swirling about their hazel depths as he traps John with his gaze. They flutter for a moment as John maintains his steady pace, and the older man presses in to speak against his lips.

“Okay?”

Joe nods shortly, breath catching in his throat. “Better.”

John bites off another moan as Joe’s hips follow him as he rolls back, pressing in on his cock. “You like that?”

The younger man's eyes close, his head moving restlessly against its place against the fridge. “Feels good,” he almost whispers. “Missed you…”

“Oh, my love,” he groans gently, leaning down slightly to mouth at Joe’s neck, running his teeth along the sensitive skin at the meeting of neck and shoulder. He knows he’s likely getting spit on Joe’ shirt, but he’s past caring as they rock together. 

The shrill whistle of the kettle surprises him enough to laugh against Joe’s neck. The redhead groans, hitting his head frustratedly against the fridge before chuckling a bit himself.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, arms coming down off John’s shoulders to push his chest away.

“Let’s just turn it off, love,” John says, and he grimaces at how whiney his voice can still be after all these years. 

Joe steps to the stove to switch the knob to “Off”, looking back at John skeptically. “You haven’t even had anything to eat today, have you?” 

“Oh, come on.”

The younger man nods as it in confirmation with himself as he fills their cups. “That’s what I thought,” he stated, carefully holding out one cup for John to take. “Go sit down, I’ll make up something for you.”

Taking the mug, John shakes his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“Just get out of here,” Joe retorts, swatting playfully at the older man’s back.

* * *  
**WED AT 2:00PM**  
Joe  
Thank you for apologizing

 **WED AT 2:05PM**  
J.D.  
I’m so sorry again, Joe. Thank you for answering.  
What can I do?

 **WED AT 2:07PM**  
Joe  
Nothing. It’s fine.

 **WED AT 2:07PM**  
J.D.  
It isn’t fine Joe, I know I was awful and I’ll do anything I can to make up for it  
Please?  
Can I call you?

 **WED AT 2:11PM**  
Joe  
I really don’t appreciate the way you speak to me like I’m a fucking 6 year old whose birthday party you missed  
You really fucking hurt me, John

 **WED AT 2:15PM**  
J.D.  
I’m so sorry. I never meant to.  
I know it’s no excuse

 **WED AT 2:17PM**  
Joe  
I guess I just don’t understand why you seem to take for granted that I have the same feelings as you, and yeah you are older but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid  
And I don’t like it when I get fucking yelled at for trying to voice my opinion on this thing that involves me as well as you

 **WED AT 2:20PM**  
J.D.  
You’re so right. I know you aren’t stupid, I would never think that ever.  
I was just afraid and overwhelmed, and I know I overreacted

 **WED AT 2:21PM**  
Joe  
Do you think I’m not scared of this too? Is that what you think?

 **WED AT 2:21PM**  
J.D.  
No Joe I know  
Just try to understand how this feels for me

 **WED AT 2:23PM**  
Joe  
Help me to, then

 **WED AT 2:32PM**  
J.D.  
When I got divorced I thought that was the end of all this, alright? I guess I sort of settled on being alone, and now the idea of not being alone is scary and comes with a lot of fucking questions and baggage and it’s a fucking load of a thing to bring someone like you into

 **WED AT 2:35PM**  
Joe  
What do you mean someone like me??

 **WED AT 2:38PM**  
J.D.  
Someone so much younger than me, someone who is already going through their fair share of struggle and heartbreak and stress. I don’t want to make anything worse for you  
And I don’t want you to say yes to something only to change your mind later  
I couldn’t bear that

 **WED AT 2:40PM**  
Joe  
You think I would do that to you?

 **WED AT 2:41PM**  
J.D  
We barely know each other Joe. I want to know you more, and I like being with you

 **WED AT 2:43PM**  
Joe  
I would never hurt you. And I can think for myself, and I can decide for myself, and when I want to commit to someone I’ll commit to them  
And I want that someone to be you  
Do you want to be with me?

 **WED AT 2:45PM**  
J.D.  
I think that I do

 **WED AT 2:45PM**  
Joe  
No buts, right?

 **WED AT 2:46PM**  
J.D.  
I’m sure there will be. But not right now  
I’m so sorry again

 **WED AT 2:47PM**  
Joe  
Just say you’re full of shit lol

 **WED AT 2:49PM**  
J.D  
I’ll say it if you say it ;)

 **WED AT 2:50PM**  
Joe  
I’m full of shit

 **WED AT 2:51PM**  
J.D.  
I’m so full of shit

 **Nov 16 2:52PM  
Outgoing call/Mobile**  
3 hr 1 min 52 sec

* * *

“You _have_ been working hard, haven’t you?” John says in surprise as he eyes the lower shelf where he knows Joe keeps his personal project plans. Where a few months prior had been 1 notebook and a folder of prints, there are now 5 identical notebooks and an additional 2 folders, as well as a few haphazardly loose pieces of lined paper resting under his laptop. 

Joe laughs from where he putters about in the kitchen. “I really have, yeah,” he admits, and John can’t help but smile at the happiness in his voice. “I’ve just had so much energy.”

“I can see that,” John nods with a smile. He wants nothing more than to pick up one of those notebooks and look through it, but he knows that’s the quickest way to get on Joe’s nerves. “Is it all one project, then?”

He hears the oven door shut before Joe replies. “Yeah, so far. I mean, it’s like a thousand different things that I’m trying to jam together. I’ve had to do a ton of research on it, but I think it’s all coming together really nicely.”

“Am I going to be allowed to read any of it, this time?” John asks, taking a small sip of his tea.

“Maybe when it starts to resemble actual dialogue I’ll loop you in,” the younger man replies, back to the room as he bends over the fridge, opening the lower drawer and rifling. “Promise.”

Sighing, John sets his cup down on the coffee table (cleared of any notes and sundry piles of Joe’s crap for once), and subtly takes a peek behind the TV. 

Yep, there’s a dusty glass sitting there.

Shaking his head, he takes it from its hiding spot, leaving behind a perfect little circle left behind in the dust, and sets it on the counter behind Joe. “Missed a spot, Joe.”

The redhead turned in confusion, shoulders slumping a bit at the sight of the dusty glass. “Where the hell was that?”

“Behind the TV,” John said, crossing back to the sofa and sitting down. 

“Do you just hide things every single time you’re here so that you can look like fucking Mrs. Doubtfire the next time you come?” Joe asked, grimacing a little bit as he moved the glass into the dishwasher.

Retrieving his cup from the coffee table, John chuckled. “It gives me pause that your head goes to Mrs. Doubtfire when you think of proper housekeeping.”

“You have your nanny, I’ll have mine,” Joe shrugged. “How’s the tea?”

“Proper tea, very proud of you,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “You know, I haven’t read anything of yours since last Fall. I’m starting to feel offended.”

The redhead groaned, shutting the cupboard. “Jesus. The last one you read never got bought. If you’re going to read something I’d rather you read something that was worthwhile.”

“The last script was worthwhile, love, don’t be discouraged.”

“I’m not,” Joe shook his head, meeting John’s eyes over the counter. “I’m not, it’s just...this one could be really good, I think, so I want to wait until it’s done to show it to anyone, not just you.”

John offered the other man a small smile in reply. “I understand. Of course.”

“And I just,” Joe sighed, breaking the connection of their gaze to look down at the countertop. “I just want you to be proud of me, I don’t know.” 

He melts just a little, and fights the urge to stand up and sweep Joe into his arms. “Joe, I’m always proud of you. Don’t you know that?”

“No, I do. I do. It’s just a feeling, I don’t know,” the younger man sighed, shaking his head. “I’m a man of many feelings, I’m not sure if you knew that.”

“I love that about you.”

Joe looked at him, hazel eyes soft, red dancing on the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “What a charmer. Got a guy, sweetheart?”

John hummed to himself, trying to play along and biting back a smile. “Oh, I do. He’s a redhead.”

“Yeah?”  
“Yeah, and he’s sexy and I like it,” John tries to say seductively, but a laugh bubbles up at the end and he has to cover his mouth to hide his smile.

The younger man laughs, face lighting up in delight. “Aww, you’re too sweet, I can’t,” he says brightly. “Anyway, it’s almost done, and I swear you’ll be the first one to read it.”

“I’ll hold you to that, love,” John smiles as Joe leans over to pop the oven open. “What do you have there?”

He hears a pan being set on the stove as Joe gives him a wry smile. “What do you think it is?”

“You didn’t.”

“Cheese toast is the only recipe of yours I’ve been able to successfully integrate into this kitchen, so yes that’s what you’re getting. Be happy I had something other than Daiya cheese on hand.”

John can only smile dumbly and take another sip of his tea. “You’re a dream, I swear it. Even if you make it with your soggy fake cheese.”

There’s the sound of scraping briefly, before Joe is transporting two plates over to the couch. “I’m a nightmare dressed like daydream, you knew that, babe.”

He chuckles softly, taking the plate Joe offers to him as the other man moves to sit beside him. “What's that, from a film or something?”

Joe laughs. “Yeah, sort of,” he says, settling back into the cushions.

The plate is laden with a slice of thickly cut cheese on toast and a sprinkling of strawberries and blueberries. He quickly bites into the toast, relishing the warmth and the richness. “And not to split hairs,” he says as he swallows. “But it’s cheese on toast, not cheese toast.”

Joe scoffs through his own bite of toast, shaking his head. “I’d love for you to tell me the difference between cheese on toast and cheese toast, because I don’t think you actually know.”

“It’s a subtle difference, but a difference nonetheless.”

“Yeah, ok. Not sure why I’m surprised, Mr. Cheese Chips,” Joe smirked, taking another bite of his toast.

“Hey,” John shot back, fighting not to point a finger at the younger man. “You got an old man drunker than he’d been in 10 years, I probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you the names of my own children. I won’t hear it.”

“You stared a plate of nachos head on and called them cheese chips, I’m never in my life going to forget it,” Joe said assuredly, popping a berry in his mouth. “I’m not sorry about it.”

John shook his head as he took another bite of his toast. “So bloody rude,” he muttered.

A few moments of silence passed as they ate, and John silently made the decision to ask the question that had been weighing him since Joe’s departure in December. “So,” he began, reaching for his tea. “How’s the, uh, other project going, then?”

This seems to give Joe pause, as he stops chewing for a moment to look aside at John in surprise. When he resumes chewing, he does so slowly, appearing to gather his thoughts as he swallows. “Are you...I mean, are you sure you want to talk about it?”

Taking a big sip of his remaining tea, John nods consideringly. “Well, yeah. I guess. I mean yes, if you won’t tell me anything about the other one,” he adds on playfully.

If he’s being honest, he wants to keep himself as far away from this new film as he had kept himself from the first _Bohemian Rhapsody_. Thus far he hasn’t even read the script, just allowed Joe to give him the bare bones of it, and told everyone else the script had his approval, and that’s as far as he’d let himself go with it. He didn’t, and still doesn’t, think this film is a good idea in any measure, but deep down he didn’t think he could keep seeing Joe’s insecurities about not working drop him into a spiral every few months. He’d rather have him happy and working than unhappy, bored and making John feel helpless at not being able to do anything any day. 

But surrendering his lover for four months this summer, then the last three months for the re-shoots, had dropped him into a light spiral of his own. They had barely been able to spend the holidays together before Joe was on a plane again. For the last two and a half years they had spent so much time in each others orbit that their not living together had been almost a non-issue, but this year had made the separation more profound than it had ever been. This, of course, due in part to Joe returning to New York to decompress and see his family between filming, and John being too afraid to show his face anywhere near the set. 

“I mean,” the redhead started, eyebrows raising up in their own shrug. “If you’re sure.”

John nodded. “I am,” he said. And he was. Honestly, they talk about everything else, he can talk about this. 

Joe considers this, before offering John a tentative smile. “Well, it’s...good. It’s great, honestly. It’s all been really fucking painless as compared to last time. You know.”

He does know. Tangentially, but he does know that the running of the first film had not initially been a smooth one.

“And the boys? Are they having an okay run of it?” 

Joe smiles sharply. “My boys or your boys?”

Clicking his tongue, John rolls his eyes. “Don’t be cute, I hate it when you’re cute.”

The younger man laughs. “All parties involved are doing very well, yes,” he sets his plate on the coffee table before shifting closer to John on the sofa. “All parties involved wished you’d have found it in your heart to come by again.”

John set his own plate down on the table, bringing his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “I sent that champagne,” he said amiably.

“I know,” Joe sighed, resting his head on the older man's shoulder. “But I still would rather have had you than that hangover I had the next day.”

The older man pursed his lips lightly, combing his fingers through Joe’s hair. “I know,” he said gently. “But it’s not...you know, easy for me. And I want to be able to talk about it with you, it’s just-”

“Hey,” Joe hushed him, taking a tender hold of John’s chin and guiding his face to look into his own. “I understand.”

John smiles at the look of acceptance the younger man is giving him, and allows himself to settle into this warmth. He’s known a lot of people, it’s been the nature of his life, but there’s never been another quite like Joe. “Okay.”

Joe releases John’s face and makes himself comfortable against his chest. “Tell me something.”

“What something?”

“Any something,” the redhead said, looking up at John through his eyelashes. “What’s been going on with you?”

John released a little bark of laughter at that. “How much time do you have?”

“I have all the time in the world.”

* * *

_They fuck for the first time on a snowy day in December._

_After, as Joe dozed beside him in the heat of their sweat soaked bed, John had put the fingers that he’d had inside his lover into his mouth. A heaviness stuck to the back of his throat. Thick. Hissing. Salt._

_Like how he would swallow handfuls of ocean water, and let gobs of salt fall through his body._

_He could feel the swell of his heart pushing up against his sternum as Joe lazily awoke, and moved on top of him in the darkness of the night. Rocking on him, over him. Their breaths mingled, their bodies becoming shadows winding and wrapping around each other._

_They were both oceans to be swallowed._


End file.
